The wind whispers my name in the night.



I feel its gentle breath upon my skin,

as it glides o'er the floor, creeping in,



'Come, come' it murmurs in my ear,

Its airy words - too quickly - disappear.



My weightless limbs are not my own,

As, dreamlike, I am lead into the unknown.



The silver light spills from the moon,

I try to turn, but am held by the tune.



Of the wind in the trees,

singing softly to me.



'Follow, follow' it continues to sigh,

The stars watch as I chase the wind's echoing cry.



Over the mountain, past lonely hills,

I continue in vain, and emptiness fills.



Too lost to return, too close to give up,

and my foolishness; I know I can never live up,



Into the forest, away from the truth,

but in those few moments, away slips my youth.



Always going farther, but yet I'm never there,

and as the morning comes, my footprints disappear.



*************



This poem is a metaphor

Does anyone see it?